


Of Crappy Films, Breakfast and Meeting the Friends

by BlackandBlueMagpie



Series: Wonderful One plus One [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 08:18:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackandBlueMagpie/pseuds/BlackandBlueMagpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courf gets kicked out of his flat for the evening.<br/>Jehan gets his chance to meet Les Amis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Crappy Films, Breakfast and Meeting the Friends

The next week or so is different from the others.  
Jehan still comes in at three sharp, still writes his poetry but not he takes more time to talk _about_ his poetry. Just as Courfeyrac takes more time to lean over the counter, to go over with drinks on the house with increasingly interesting swirls in the foam, which he’ll deny practising if you ask.   
Courf soon learnt that Jehan is one of those people that can be all at once the happiest person in the room and the most melancholy. The stammers and blushes and giggles that spill from him can just as quickly turn to gazes at nothing in particular and silences that seemed neither comfortable or overly stifling. He could see the beauty in everything and appreciate the coarse reality in a way that was surprising for a day dreamer.  
On Thursday Jehan turns up on his bike, with daisies braided into his hair. Today he settles with a book and Courf brings him his coffee in the cup he knows he loves and this time sits and chats over his own coffee, as it’s not too busy at this time, and takes the opportunity to memorise Jehan further. The freckles that spread across his nose and down to his fingers which curl around the cup and through the handle just so, the way he smiles and it shows his teeth, or the way his hair falls just above his brow every time he tries to tuck it back behind his ear, the way his eyes are stuck somewhere between green and blue, and somehow shift toward grey when the mood fits, or how easily he blushes when Courf accidentally brushes past him later.   
Grantaire arrives late in the afternoon, selecting a worn leather stool by the counter to sit on, flopping over the counter top after he’s downed his espresso. Jehan comes over half an hour later, Grantaire still not having moved, to strike up conversation and Courf leaves them to it as he goes about wiping down tables and watching the way Jehan talks with his hands.   
It takes 5 extra beeps to realise his phone has gone off. The text is from Marius and he’s already groaning before he’s even read it.   
“What’s up?” Grantaire asks.   
“Pontmercy failed to inform me that, as it’s Cosette’s birthday, I need to vacate our flat for the evening.”  
Nothing more is said, Courf finishes tidying and Grantaire leaves, until Jehan puts a hand over his own as he wipes down the counter and asks:  
“Do you want to come over to mine? I have crappy films and it’d save you troubling anyone else.” A blush “And I’d like you to.”  
“Well, if you’re offering…” Then they’re both smiling and Jehan doesn't seem to mind that his hand’s getting wet from the cloth. The he realises that he should have pulled away.   
Courf locks up and Jehan wheels his bike alongside them. Talking is effortless and he’s almost surprise when Jehan announces they’re there and they turn down a side street with street lamps down the centre and a red flowering plant dripping over a wall.  
Jehan unlocks the door and leaves his bike under the stairs, alongside a couple of others. His flat turns out to be on the second, a somewhat l-shaped affair of all in one living with separate bedroom.   
As Jehan grabs them drinks Courf is left to gaze around. The wall next to the sofa is lined with bookcases and old leather books. The coffee table is littered with many familiar notebooks, a jug of flowers and a few fiction books with notes scribbled in the margins. A flower wreath sits haphazardly on the window sill and, abandoned in the centre of it all, is a scrapbook, surrounded by photos, clippings and a typewriter.   
“Sometimes I like… Visual poetry…” Jehan murmurs as if he has to explain himself. “Sorry it’s a mess.”  
“This isn't messy; you've never been to Grantaire’s.” Jehan laughs despite himself and holds out a cup of tea in its flowery mug. They find they share similar tastes in films and waste no time settling down to watch Breakfast at Tiffany’s.  
No one mentions how Jehan leans into Courf, how Courfs cheek rests on Jehans hair. No one mentions when Courfs hand comes to rest on flowered jeans or when Jehans hand moves to twine their fingers together.  
They wake up the next morning like that, hands still clasped, Courfs feet draped over the arm of the sofa, Jehans face tucked neatly against his shoulder.   
Jehan wakes up first, to the scent of Courf’s shampoo and his quiet snoring. It takes him a moment to process and when he does he’s bolt upright within moments. Courf stirs and blinks up at him, rubbing the back of his neck where it’s cricked.  
“M-morning.” Jehan manages. The smile Courf gives him is lazy.   
“Good morning.” A pause, as Jehan processes what is normal social etiquette for a situation such as this, then he blurts.  
“Breakfast.” He tries again “Do you want something to eat?”  
“I couldn't trouble you further.”  
“No trouble, you treat me enough at the café. It’d be nice to… Before I have to go to class.” The last sentence is sudden realisation as he whirls around to the clock, leaping up as he realises the time “In an hour.”   
“Go on, go get ready. I’ll make breakfast.” Courf seems more amused than anything by his reaction and won’t take no for an answer as Jehan protests, simply shoving Jehan toward his bedroom.   
Jehan eventually gives up. He showers, pulls on a pair of teal jeans and a purple jumper with patches and heads back out to the living room. The place smells like fried eggs and toast and Courf has the radio on – dancing alongside the counter top as he searches for something. Jehan settles at the table, letting him suffer for a while longer for his own amusement before he mentions that salt and pepper are in the small end cabinet with the other herbs and spices. Courf jumps, laughing as he turns and asks if Jehan’s a ghost before he goes back to the kettle.  
“I've just realised that, despite being your barista, I have no idea if you prefer tea or coffee in the morning.”  
“Fruit teas in the morning, earl grey between classes, coffee in the afternoon and tea before bed.” Jehan regales. “I’ll make the drinks.”   
They settle at the small teak table a few minutes later, with eggs in a basket sunny side up. Jehan has a peppermint tea, while Courf has black coffee in stripy mugs. A vase of daffodils separate them until Courf moves them to the end table behind him. The food is good and conversation flows between them like poetry and Jehan swears he’ll have to write that later. He’s so engrossed he’s almost late for his lecture, cycling there as fast as he can once he’s left Courf behind.   
He goes around that afternoon and sets to work on the poem that’s been going around his head since that morning. Most of it’s scripted in parts down his wrists so it doesn't take him long to get it all down. His coffee’s halfway to cold by the time he starts it. Courf comes over half way through the afternoon but doesn't stay for long, just long enough to enquire as to what Jehan is doing that evening.   
“It’s just we have a meeting and Enjolras said I could bring you – I think Combeferre persuaded him – and you said you wanted to meet everyone else.”  
“I’d love to. Is it the same place you took me on that… Date?”  
“Mhmm. It’s starts at 7 so I could meet you outside just before?”   
So Jehan makes his way toward the café for the second time in his life, and this time it is Courf sitting on one of the tables outside, grinning at him as he approaches.  
“Everyone’s looking forward to meeting you. They’re all downstairs, beside Grantaire but he hasn't shown up too much lately because he and Enjolras have been fighting, but what’s new.” He takes Jehans’ arm and leads him through the café and toward the door near the bar. The back room is down a short flight of stairs and along a corridor, they pass a sign for toilets and what looks like a back entrance to the kitchens. “The place isn't much, but it’s cheap and out of the way. Enjolras knows the owner I believe.”  
The meeting hasn’t started when they arrive; everyone instead sat around in pre meeting groups and pairs. Some cradle drinks, Combeferre is stood talking to someone who appears to be at least somewhat in charge – so Jehan assumes he must be Enjolras – then begins handing out the stack of papers he’s carrying a moment or so later.   
Courf gestures to each member in turn, and Jehan gives them all a certain dedication that amuses Courf no end.  
Enjolras is who Jehan assumed him to be. A blond haired man whose waves frame his face just so (and Jehan can’t help but wonder if that perfection is natural). He’s got an air that suggests a kind of energy that could both be impressive and beautiful but also terrifying at the same time.  
When Grantaire walks in half an hour late with bloodshot eyes and plonks himself down as if nothing has happened Jehan sees the energy directed directly at him, and sees what Courf has meant before.   
The look Grantaire gives Enjolras is none the less admiring, in a way that makes Jehan enquire to Courf as to if anything is going on between them. (Courf reassures him that, except for Grantaire’s undying love that no, there isn’t.)  
Jehan has of course met Combeferre, now stooped over his laptop as he references something or other.   
Next around the table is Joly, and Courf tells him that it is perfectly normal for the dusty haired man to be asking Bossuet if his tongue is swollen. Bossuet himself is a dark skinned man, with a bald head (Jehan hasn’t quite figured out yet if it’s intentional or not), and a humorous twinkle in his eye even as he reassures Joly that, quite seriously, his tongue is exactly the same as yesterday.  
The final two are still discussing the pros and cons of some movement or another but raise their hands as Courf introduced them. Feuilly is a wiry man, with thick rimmed glasses, freckles and dark curly hair that’s been tamed somewhat more than Grantaires’. Bahorel is near enough the opposite, a muscular man with a bruise just under his grey eyes. He seems enthralled by Feuillys’ gesticulating argument even if he disagrees on the fundamental point.   
The meeting begins shortly after Grantaire’s arrival. Enjolras is a passionate speaker, covering injustices and a rally taking place the next weekend. Combeferre is the one who interjects with details and other important things from where he sits, still tapping away. The rest of the group chime in when needed, each having their own part to play. Then suddenly the attention turns to him, a spectrum of eyes that probe him more incessantly before.  
“What do you do Jehan?” Feuilly asks.  
“I-I write. Mainly poetry but I have to do some reviews and things for class.”  
“That could be useful.” Enjolras peers up from his notes.  
“Why?”  
“We need ways to get people involved. Combeferre has often said I’m too… Passionate when writing such things.” Enjolras clearly doesn’t agree with the assessment and Combeferre glances up.  
“Your manner of writing is perfectly adequate for speeches, but not for attracting new people to join the cause. A writer who can encourage such a move would be very useful for us. How’d you feel about it? If you’re interested in the cause of course.”   
“If you are, you’d have to prove your dedication.” Enjolras pipes up.  
“Oh leave it. Jehan doesn’t want to do your bizarre schemes to prove his dedication, a membership sign up would suffice.” Bahorel leans back on his chair “Rather than dragging him out and around and having him sign in blood.”  
“Very well. I’ll give you the necessary information via Courf. You can make your decision, but feel free to come to the meetings. Combeferre has reassured me you’re of good character, as have Courf and Grantaire and I trust their judgement.”  
“Thank you, that’d be helpful.”   
The meeting breaks up then, Bahorel and Feuilly heading upstairs to grab everyone more drinks. Enjolras comes over to speak to Jehan shortly after and asks what he thinks so far. Jehan informs him that it’s been very informative and that he agrees with many of the principles of the group but had never thought to come to the meetings before.   
He gets to know many of the other men over the course of the evening. Feuilly is passionate about his cause, and his art. He’s not actually a student, but has a deep interest in history and wishes now that he’d continued it. He and Bahorel had met many years before in an amateur boxing group and struck up conversation. They found that they shared a common interest in changing politics. While Feuilly had given up the boxing at a young age Bahorel continued it still. They had both frequented many of the student groups, but Les Amis were their favoured group, particularly for Feuilly though Bahorel still flitted occasionally. Joly, when he’d stopped worrying, turned out to be very agreeable. He was a medical student, something that as it turned out may not have been the best career path for him. He twice asked Jehan if he was aware of the bug going around at the moment and once more on the pollen of the flowers in his hair. Despite this they ended up getting on well, finding a mutual interest in mystery novels. Bossuet pulled a face as they began discussing this, it apparently being a favoured topic of Joly’s. He gets to Bossuet after his second drink, once the discussion has reached its conclusion and Joly introduces them properly. He was humorous, teasing Joly every now and then, though there was obviously affection between the two. They lived together, having met through a mutual acquaintance. Bossuet studied law at the university but was a year or so higher than the others.   
Courf walks him home, asking all sorts of questions about his friends and the group, causing Jehan to giggle at his enthusiasm.   
“They seem great, seriously. I think I’d like to go back and get involved.”  
“Really, Enjolras didn’t scare you off?”  
“No, he’s passionate sure but that’s pretty inspirational. I can see why Grantaire adores him.” Courf glances away and Jehan can’t see his expression. “Thanks for taking me.”  
They reach his flat and Jehan leans in to give him a hug, he’s not sure if it should be as surprising as Courf seems to think it is but the other slowly wraps his arms around him in a tight squeeze. Jehan hasn’t been hugged properly in a long time, and he thinks maybe he forgot how nice it actually feels to be caught up in an embrace. He takes a step back, knocking into the door with a thump.  
“Well… I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have few headcanons yet about the other members of Les Amis, hopefully they'll develop with the story


End file.
